


Stranger Things

by samchandler1986



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Multi, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:36:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: Sam tries to get a handle on Bash and Florian.





	Stranger Things

There is a clunking sound followed by an almost humorous elastic-twanging _sploing._ Sam looks up from the camera to see Bash’s butler rubbing his elbow ruefully.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” the kid calls back. What’s his name now? Florida or something? “Just these ropes are kinda hard to fix.”

Sam would be the first to admit he’s not really the practical type, but needs must. “Want a hand?”

“Yeah, that would be great actually.”

He jumps up into the ring. At least that’s the intention. It’s always so much _taller_ than he expects, and what he intends as a leap turns into more of an arthritic lumber. An unwelcome reminder of mileage on the clock. “What do I do?”

Florian hand him the length of pink elastic. “Just hold these there while I fix the other side.”

It turns out to be surprisingly hard, muscles in his arm screaming by the time the kid comes over to finish the job. “Tougher than it looks,” volunteers Sam.

“Mmm. I normally have Tim and Dale help but they’re MIA…”

“Tim and— who?”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t think you met. Buddies from my gym. They helped build the ring at the Heyworth last time. Carried some of the wrestlers in.”

“Oh.” He vaguely remembers those titanic hulks in bowties – should have figured they were unlikely to have come from Ruth’s address book. “Cool. Where _is_ everyone, anyway?”

“Uh, I think they all went for lunch.”

“You weren’t hungry?”

The kid’s face fixes in a polite smile, so practiced it almost convinces. “No, I wanted to get this finished.”

And it’s none of his business, really. Why should he give a shit about this kid and whatever tragic backstory lies behind those puppy dog eyes? Over the decades he’s heard them all, lived some of them too.

 “Wanna go get some now?”

Apparently, he’s less of a cynic than he thought.

* * *

Sam puts down the basket of fries, taking a handful for himself. “So,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of potato. “What’s the deal with you and Bash anyway?”

Another faint smile. “I’m his butler.”

“He pays you?”

“Yeah, of course he pays me.”

“But you’re friends too, right?”

Florian nods. “We went to school together.”

“Right.” He drums his fingers on the table, trying to think of a polite way to phrase his next question. “How does that work then?”

The kid laughs, politely confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I kind of assumed that Bash went to some fancy school—”

“What, and I’m not fancy?” The kid’s face is still carefully blank but there’s a sense, somewhere, of a fuse burning now.

“I don’t mean it as an insult,” Sam tries to explain. “But _yeah_. You work as a butler providing fruit-loop _aperitifs_ for a giant man-child. That doesn’t scream fancy to me.” He scrubs his moustache in the awkward silence that follows, starting to regret his offer of lunch.

Florian takes a long sip of his diet coke. “Have you met Birdie?”

“Who?” Sam scowls in confusion at the apparent non-sequitur.

“Bash’s mom,” Florian continues patiently.

“Oh. Yeah.” He shudders. “Not, you know, up close.”

This time Florian’s smile is genuine, he’s almost sure. “Yeah, she can take people like that. But she’s serious about improving the lives of the underprivileged. You know, in her own way.” He finishes another fry. “My mom was in service at another fancy house around the corner, and Birdie had this big… campaign to get all of us housekeeping kids a decent education.”

“She paid for your school?”

Florian nods. “And not just mine.”

“ _Fuck_.” He sits back, considering this.

“I don’t think it worked out quite the way she intended,” Florian adds, quietly.

“She doesn’t like you either, huh?”

“Guess I’m a bad influence on Bash.”

“Mmm.” There’s a lot loaded into the silence that follows this pronouncement, Florian quietly finishing his drink. Calm, on the surface at least, but watching Sam’s fingers tapping on the countertop like a cat.

Sam puts his chin in his hand. He’s not good at these kind of conversations. “Well, what the fuck does she know anyway?” he tries. “Is that why you’re not eating lunch with them?”

 “Oh, no,” says Florian lightly. “I know how much Bash likes to talk about the wrestling with the girls. Particularly Miss Wade.”

“Miss W—Oh, Carmen, right? Yeah. I guess she is kind of wrestling royalty. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

That thin smile again, sharp under the surface, if you know how to look for it. “And Bash is definitely into it.”

“Right.” His fingers start drumming again. _Look kid_ , he wants to say, _it’s a fucked-up crazy world and you’ll regret it if you let your life slide by serving tinned peaches as_ hor d'oeuvres _to washed up movie moguls and wannabe actresses, waiting for the right time. You won’t be the first in this town to live that kind of life, nor the last._

But— _but_ —Florian’s just a kid, not a grizzled director still riding hard on the coat tails of former success, and God knows it’s not 1978 anymore, when he last dipped a toe in those waters. The world’s changed; the spectre of whatever the fuck killed Rock Hudson swirling around Hollywood now. Fear making people angrier than ever before.

He pulls out his packet of cigarettes instead. “You smoke?” Florian nods, accepting his offer. “You should talk to Bash,” he says, making a play of lighting his cigarette. “About some of those Oscar winning ideas you have.”

“Hah, you think he’d get you to direct them?”

Sam takes a deep drag. “Who the fuck knows, kid? Stranger things have happened.”

“Right,” says Florian. “Stranger things.”


End file.
